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Page 340
from the field, his horse caught, and the heralds were calling the next joust. Conversation lapsed.
The next challenge was again for the king's champion, but this was only "to prove valor." Ian knew this opponent and grinned in the safe concealment of his helmet. Young ass, he thought, as he braced his lance. He deserves to be set on his ear on the first pass. However, one makes allowances for the son of an old friend, and for a young man, some ten years younger than oneself. Ian hardly touched the gray destrier with his spurs on the first pass. He was a little surprised at the power of the blow he received. It rocked him back against his saddle-tree before he tilted the lance off his shield. The young grow up, he thought. Little Robert de Remy was 21, not 11and he was a second son, a good boy, well-raised. Perhaps Robert would like a castle of his own to hold.
"Come," Ian muttered to the gray horse, "let us have a little more, but not too much."
The ears twitched back, and the beast snorted. Plainly, it was accustomed to being spoken to. The easy tone, Ian realized, did not communicate what he wanted. "Ha! Ha!" he urged, and the stallion increased his stride. Ian's lance took Sir Robert's shield exactly right, a little off center, so that the impact forced it toward the body. He threw himself forward just as the gray destrier came down on his forelegs. Sir Robert slid sideways out of his saddle and grabbed at the pommel, releasing his own lance. Because Ian had made no attempt to slat off Sir Robert's spear, it caught the young knight a violent blow as it responded to the pressure of Ian's shield and completed the work of knocking Sir Robert out of the saddle.
Ian wheeled his horse to see whether Sir Robert had landed awkwardly; the stallion, more a warhorse than a tourney mount, promptly reared, forelegs flashing dangerously to strike the unhorsed man. Roaring blasphemies, Ian wrenched his mount's head around

 
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